


Anatidaephobia

by CharlieBradbury



Series: Agent Henry's Mission Files (Tales of the Secret Agent Duckling) [2]
Category: Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Avengers Tower Adventures, Clint saves the day, Coulson Lives, Gen, I blame Chuui, There is a duck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-14
Updated: 2013-01-14
Packaged: 2017-11-25 10:22:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/637882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharlieBradbury/pseuds/CharlieBradbury
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The fear that somewhere, somehow, a duck is watching you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anatidaephobia

Thor wakes with a start, his loud snores cut off. He rises up, groping for Mjolnir. It is at his side, in its usual dent in the mattress. Just gripping the leather-bound handle calms him. A glance around his room shows that nothing is out of place, various Midgardian garments (gifts from Tony Stark) strewn about, his usual garb on the floor next to the bed. He feels the creeping sensation of being watched crawl under his skin. It isn’t like the usual comforting knowledge that Heimdall was observing him.

This feeling raises the hair on the back of his neck, similar to how he feels before accepting that he could not block an approaching blow. Perhaps the tiny machines that Stark uses to keep watch over his tower have gotten to him. Perhaps he had just awoken from a bad dream, forgetting it as soon as his eyes beheld daylight. He sighs and rubs his free hand on his neck. There seems to be no danger, so he steps out of bed to scoop up some pants. Walking down to the kitchen, he feels the sensation receding, but it still remains.

“Good morning, Thor,” Natasha greets as she screws the lid on a thermos.

“And to you as well, Natasha,” Thor answers, his shoulders stiff and hands clenched.

The agent angles her head slightly to the left, squinting at him. “Are you all right?”

He smiles broadly at her. “Of course I am. ‘Tis just a bad dream that I must shake off.”

She gives him a small smile in return. “It’ll pass, then.” He nods at her as she leaves the spotless kitchen. Thor finds himself a box of pop tarts that is only half empty and a huge (plastic, it’s harder to break than glass) cup of milk. Not goat’s milk, as he’s used to, but its sweetness appeals to him. He walks through the wide archway into the sitting room. He lowers himself into the couch, opening the first packet of delicious pastries. He hears a rustle from above him, and whips his head up with his arms raised.

“So you feel it too?” Clint asks, suddenly beside him.

“Barton!” Thor bellows. Clint doesn’t so much as flinch. “I wish you would refrain from sneaking up on me. It’s maddening.” He relaxes his fist, to find his first poptarts crushed in their wrapper.

“It’s a habit.” His sharp eyes dart around the open space of the room. “You getting that creepy crawly feeling too, right?”

“MMF?” Thor mumbles around a mouthful of pop tart crumbs.

“I’ve been feeling like someone’s got a lock on me for the past two days. You seem pretty twitchy this morning.”

Thor takes a closer look at his teammate. The marksman is fiddling with a small rip in his jeans, fingers fraying the material further. His mouth is drawn in a tight line, reminding Thor of a taut bow string. He swallows down some milk and says, “I did feel wary when I awoke this morn. Perhaps we should alert the others? There could be a possible threat if we’ve both been affected.”

“Nah. No one else has noticed it. Trust me, I’d know if they did.” He drags a hand through his short hair. “I think I know what it is anyway.”

“Oh? Please, tell me.”

“It’s going to sound crazy. But. I mean-“

“Agent Barton. Thor.” Agent Coulson says, appearing at the doorway. “Have either of you seen Agent Henry?”

“Not since the debriefing yesterday,” Clint responds immediately. “I saw him coming out of the bathroom on the twentieth floor afterwards.”  
Coulson nods his thanks and walks away. Clint follows his movements with concern. “Shit, Coulson’s worried.” Thor merely grunts in agreement through another mouthful. The son of Coul had grown quite attached to the Junior Agent Henry over the past few weeks. The tiny warrior had grown as well, they all felt very proud of him.

But if he was missing, last seen somewhere in Stark’s (Avengers) Tower, well this was a cause for concern. “Come, Hawkeye,” he said, draining the last of his milk and putting his wrappers carefully into the empty box. “Let us endeavor to find the tiny one.”

Clint cracks a smile. “Operation ‘Are You My Handler?’ is go. I’ll take the high road.” He stalks off, presumably to wiggle around the vents. Thor makes sure to dispose properly of his trash (he did not relish the thought of facing Steve Rogers and his disappointment at Thor’s inability to tidy up again. Five times was enough, thank you). He goes to search his room carefully. If he’d been feeling watched there, then there was the possibility the duckling was there. It was the best idea he had.

Five hours (and two snack breaks) later, Thor taps on the ceiling in a broom closet in the R&D department. Clint pops the tile loose, pulling it onto the struts with him. “No luck then?”

“None. Perhaps we could ask for Stark’s help? It is his fortress after all.”

“Aw man, why didn’t I think of that first?!” Clint wails. He drops down to the ground with practiced grace, and makes for the door. “I forget this building comes with a brain, we can get JARVIS to scan for the little guy, it’ll be a snap-“

As he opens the door, he almost walks into Bruce. Who stops midstride. “Uh.” His tired brown eyes go between the two men, taking in the way Thor is rumpled looking (from crawling around looking under furniture) and the way Clint’s hair is ruffled and his face is red (from holding his weight up on the supports in the ceiling). “Well, this is uh. Surprising.”

“What-no-what do you-“ Clint stutters. He realizes just how much it looks like he and Thor were just making out in a broom closet. “Henry! Henry’s missing!”

“Coulson’s duck?” Bruce asks, for clarification. He shifts the reports he has in his arms, his shocked expression flowing into one of concern.

“Yes. The agent is most concerned. The tiny one has been missing since we finished our meeting yesterday,” Thor says helpfully, completely oblivious to the connotations of being found in a broom closet with his teammate.

“That’s not good. Were you guys looking for him? Why didn’t you just ask Tony to do a scan?”

They’re already walking down the hallway, Bruce leading the way. “Because not every building I’ve lived in has a built-in robot butler,” Clint says sharply.

“No worries, it’ll be fine,” Bruce soothes. Clint grins and follows him quietly. They find Tony covered in what everyone hopes is just motor oil in the garage. He waves them off, telling JARVIS to help the others out however he can. Bruce and the AI converse for a while, bringing up schematics and doing heat signature scans. What they find is worrying.

“Coulson?” Clint calls on his communicator, running for the elevator. Thor thunders along behind him.

“Report.”

“Level fifteen, west elevator. Three small heat signatures closing in on another one, they’re small enough to be Henry. They’re in the air ducts. I’m en route, I’ll go from the elevator to the vents to intercede.”

“Copy. I’ll be on the floor. Keep me in the loop.”

“Expect Thor. Out.” When they’re in the elevator, Thor wordlessly braces his meaty hands together. Clint launches upwards, batting the service hatch out of his way. He grips the edge of the access entrance and hauls himself up. He hears the button ding as Thor selects the fifteenth floor. When they reach it, Clint’s mini tool makes short work of the grate covering the vent. He flings it down in the elevator, getting his gun and flashlight out before crawling into the wide duct.  
He can hear shuffling around a bend in the vents about ten feet ahead of him. “I’ve got movement,” he says into the comm. He faintly hears the familiar peeping noise that has been accompanying Coulson for the past few weeks. “Visual. He’s…what the fuck-“

Henry’s a yellow blur as he races full speed towards Clint, with what appears to be three mice with video cameras attached to them hot on his tail. “Holy shit, run Henry!”

Under them, Thor hears the peeping and skittering sounds. Reacting purely on instinct, he jumps upwards. His fist collides with the ceiling tiles, hitting the air duct above. Inside, the three mice-cameras lose their footing as the metal under them dents upwards. Henry keeps waddling as fast as he can, ignoring the crashing noises behind him. He gives out one last happy squeak as he dives into Clint’s arm.

Clint scuttles out of there swiftly, the tiny duck clutched to his shoulder. The mice things seem to have been knocked unconscious by Thor’s blow. He’ll come back for them later. Right now, priority is to get Henry back safe to Coulson.

\----

After they get Henry some food and a bath (he was a feather duster stuck inside air ducts, it was disgusting) and assess that he’s unharmed, the team turns their attention to the mice. The video cameras had been taped to them, without any kind of transmitting device, so it was assumed they were merely there for recon. Bruce used a solvent to remove the tape painlessly while the animals were sedated. No one could figure out why they had been after Henry, until they saw the tiny scuff marks on the equipment. The marks were about as big as the duck’s bill.

“He was trying to get rid of them,” Coulson concludes, sitting in the lab with Henry wrapped up in a towel in his lap. Henry peeps in his warm nest softly. “He knew they were a threat. He must have found one and tried to get rid of the camera when the other two caught up with him.” There’s no mistaking the way his voice is tightened with pride.

The others smile at him, Clint rolling his eyes at Coulson’s obvious affection for the duck. “So what do we do with these guys?” He gestures at the mice, already waking up in their cage.

Natasha approaches the cage, watching the mice as they watch her. “They’re not mice,” she announces. “They’re very young rats.” They follow the movement of her fingers as she opens the cage and rests her fist just at the entrance. They converge on her hand as a group, sniffing and licking. Everyone watches as one of them bites into her thumb. Natasha doesn’t even flinch.

“Uh, Natasha-“ Bruce begins, but Clint puts a hand on his shoulder and shakes his head.

Natasha coos something to the rats in Russian, and the biter lets her go. It begins to walk out onto her fist, sniffing curiously. Natasha gives it a short head scratch before closing the cage door decidedly. “I’m keeping them.”

No one argues. Not even Henry .

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to write some more stuff for Agent Henry honestly. And this came out. Maybe Natasha's rats will make another appearance someday.


End file.
